


Even infinity is finite depening on how you look at it

by Garecc, Gunpowderdtim (Garecc)



Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [29]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Death, Death to the Mechanisms Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Garecc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garecc/pseuds/Gunpowderdtim
Summary: Drumbot Brian dies in space, for the final time.
Series: Ready, Aim, Fire [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799860
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	Even infinity is finite depening on how you look at it

**Author's Note:**

> my forth fic about dying alone in space.

The void of space is cold, and you are alone.

The void of space is cold, and you are dying, but not quite dead yet.

The void of space is cold, and you are fast approaching your Ending

It’s been a long time, you know. Been a long time coming.

Drifting out like this, you know the vastness of the universe, the sheer emptiness of what surrounds you.

All you are is stardust and smoke, the remnants of an explosion that exploded so fast and hard the dust woke up and began thinking for itself.

The universe is finite. Time is finite. And you are facing your end.

Your heart aches in what was made to be your chest.

Your heart aches as the pipes that keep it pumping shudder.

Your heart aches from the weight of all that you are.

You are finite. 

Despite the lies you and your family told yourselves, you are finite, and you have passed your falling action and have moved into your conclusion. 

You have arrived in your final chapter and are quickly approaching your final page.

And as you float onward, the chill of the void sinking deep, you can feel that final period growing closer.

You hope you’ve lived a good life. 

You _know_ you made a difference.

You know that your existence sent ripples through the universe, made stories echo louder. You have decided life and death like a reaper, and spun fates from your lips.

You have changed the whole universe. Multiple universes.

You’ve altered realities with your existence.

And now you face your end.

Curled up, cold, alone.

Your joints ache in a distant way.

Every moving piece aches in a distant way.

You are floating around your body like a cloud, disconnected.

After all, was this body ever really you?

Could you truely call something so different, so strange from what you originally were, _you_?

Could you really call a form of metal and plastic, of wire and silicon, of gold and diamonds, _you,_ when you were organic to begin with?

There was always that doubt, that dark and gnawing terror of _are you real?_ Are you _really_ a person? Could a _thing_ like you, something that can be _controlled_ and _changed_ by a _switch_ so easily be a person? Have free will?

No, you think.

You never could, not really.

You have not been a whole person for millennia.

You are just a bleeding heart entombed in metal.

And now that last remaining scrap of you is dying.

Even if you were plucked from space, you know you would not be able to move.

You would not be able to heal.

You have reached your ending.

And there is no more story from here.

Your joints have long fused, your gears have long jammed, and your fans no longer whir, your motors have long stopped thrumming.

You are a broken machine, you are a bleeding heart, you are a forsaken witch, you are a beloved drummer, you are a prophet, you are a hanged man, you are Drumbot Brian, and you are alone.

Means justify ends, ends justify means.

The ends are very rarely the end, as you know from your first death.

As you know from watching, from seeing an infinity unfold ahead of you.

As you know from seeing so many ends, that most ends are really just beginnings.

Ends are very rarely the end, but this one is.

The Doctor will not save you now.

The universe will not send someone to piece you back together this time

You chose this death anyway.

You chose to open the airlock. You chose to stand in it. You chose to let your body that was never really yours be sucked into the vast emptiness of space.

You chose this, and you do not regret it.

That final sentence draws nearer, and your heart still beats, however unsteady.

There is nothing left but your ending, and as your tale ends, you find yourself hoping.

You doubt there is another side, you doubt there is a heaven or hell.

You doubt there is anything beyond you and your end.

But still, you hope.

You hope not for a happy afterlife, and not for divine punishment in hell.

You merely hope that you did okay.

Alone in the universe you find yourself, and as your heart beats its final thump, you die.

Hoping for the universe, and everything in it.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @gunpowderdtim


End file.
